I recently listened to a radio programme More or Less on BBC Radio 4 where they talked about whether birds started singing more loudly. It surely felt this way in spring 2020 when during the lockdown in London birds were having a field day. It turned out that birds weren’t in fact signing more loudly: if anything, they didn’t have to strain themselves in the absence of traffic and other human noise pollution. Ordinarily, birds have to raise their volume to get heard but this spring we happened to make their job easier by giving them a platform to express themselves with gusto. 

In the aftermath of the murder of George Floyd in Minnesota and the rise of #BlackLivesMatter movement in the US, UK and globally, some may wonder why black people are shouting. The answer is simple. They are protesting and rioting because otherwise they cannot get themselves heard. They have tried and tried, but little has changed. They are shouting in desperation hoping that this time the rest of us will listen.

I sat down to write this not because I want to teach someone a lesson - there are plenty of preachers out there on social media summarising #BlackLivesMatter into neat Instagram images. I’m writing this, like pretty much every Life Tonic I’ve written to date, to process this matter myself. Writing helps me so after watching and reading and talking and listening, I sat down to put my tangled thoughts down. 

I’m pretty sure I haven’t figured it all out and that’s OK. There is plenty I don’t know. I wish our leaders admitted that more often. It’s OK to make mistakes. It’s not OK not to try to do something when our fellow citizens are risking their lives amidst the pandemic to campaign for change.

The first #BlackLivesMatter message I heard loud and clear is that we, white people, need to shut up and listen for a change. I did some DIY over the weekend, a rather thought-provoking activity, as it turns out, and found myself contemplating my white privilege. It sounds funny only if you haven’t thought about it properly. 

White privilege quite simply refers to the fact that white people don’t have to deal with negative assumptions made about them based solely on the colour of their skin, whereas black people experience it every day. Black people have to “prove themselves” in everyday situations because of the prejudicial assumptions made about them at work, on the street, etc. Someone put it well: white privilege doesn’t mean your life isn’t hard, it just means that the colour of your skin isn’t making it harder.  

I admit that I have not thought much about it before. Now that I have, it makes me look back and realise that black people have to make so much effort just to avoid some of prejudice they experience. I work closely with a black person who never swears and is exceedingly polite. In Small Island by Andrea Levy I read about black kids of the British Empire being taught manners by their mothers so that a white man could never find a reason to reproach them. Last week I cycled to Finsbury Park where a black man about to enter the gate ahead of me attempted to give me way. Why? I arrived after him. And I saw very clearly it was his habit to let people like me go through first. 

Another thing I learned about myself walking with a friend along the Regent’s Canal on Saturday is that the colour-blindness I pride myself in may be missing a point. I understand colour-blindness to be a virtue in that I see the person not the colour of his skin. Indeed, I never think of my people of colour friends any differently than I think of my white friends. And yet this means that I also choose not to see the colour of their skin and how it may affect their lives. I see a handsome, successful, interesting to talk to Goldman Sachs banker but not what it might feel like to be one of the very few people of colour at the top of that institution or what it took him to get there. I see a beautiful, fun-loving, exercise junkie I used to work with, but it never occurred to me that she was once explicitly told what kind of hairstyles were acceptable for a black woman to wear in our office. 

Having said that, I don’t know what to do with this new angle I now see. I tried calling a black friend and asking if she had a racism-free day and we both laughed. I don’t expect anyone to call me and say: “Any casual sexism you experienced today?” either. But perhaps we could all learn to open up a bit and talk about our experiences. 

Some say don’t make comparisons of your own experience to #BlackLivesMatter but I disagree. Comparisons is what helps us relate, understand and learn. Empathy isn’t something you can buy on Amazon, it’s a muscle which gets better with exercise. #BlackLivesMatter took over our lives in the same way #MeToo hashtag took over social media a couple of years ago. I will never forget that experience of seeing so many women posting their stories or just #MeToo on their Facebook walls. It was truly overwhelming and brought up some deeply buried memories. It was also life-reaffirming and gave me hope that going forward we won’t tolerate harassment, and the new generation of women especially would be brave to speak up.

I realised that watching a black man pinned down by a white policeman begging for mercy and the subsequent outcry from the black communities must have brought up all sorts of memories for people of colour. We are advised to check up on our friends and I tried. But that isn’t easy either. I struggle, for example, to find the right words for a grieving person, but formulating a text message about racial abuse is something else entirely. 

Yesterday the chief executive of my company invited all of us to write to him and suggest what we could do to make sure that Black Lives Matter. If there is thing you could do, what would it be?

I was sort prepared because I did spend some time thinking about it and bouncing some ideas off my friends. We talked about mentorship and even more importantly sponsorship of black talent, creating opportunities where rather than having a token black presence in governing institutions, companies and on screen, we should encourage and support people of colour to progress their ambitions. Plenty of such initiatives already exist, e.g. a friend of mine is involved in promoting greater diversity of undergraduates in Cambridge, venture capital fund Backstage Capital runs an accelerator programme to help underrepresented founders in the US and in London. 

But if I had to choose one thing with the widest reach and longest impact, it’s education. I’m not familiar with the school curriculum be it history, literature or arts here in the UK or in the US and I would leave it to specialists to educate us on that. What I have in mind are two practical ways we could try to reach everyone from preschool kids to pensioners promenading in Thanet.

First, we need to give black people a platform to speak while white people should just shut up and listen. 

Right now black people / people of colour talk in an echo chamber while we, white people, occasionally put black people on comedy panels, insert them into theatre plays, even elect them so we can pat ourselves on the back and move on. This is tokenism. 

Let’s give black people the platform. If you currently work in a company hosting regular Zoom meetings, invite non-white members of your staff to speak. Sure it requires some bravery but they don’t need to talk about racism. They could simply share their everyday experiences like the achievements of their kids or the last holiday they enjoyed and keep longing for during lockdown. Maybe the next person will talk about people who inspired them or how they felt when Obama was elected and how they feel now. Someone may even talk about how they taught their kids about racism and even invite white parents to share what they told their kids about prejudice. 

This is practical and I believe it could make a huge difference in a small way. 

Second, we need to create and market content which educates the public at large. 

There is plenty to cover.

For example, did you know that black women are five times more likely to die in pregnancy, birth or postpartum than white women in Britain? I listened to a Woman’s Hour podcast about it last summer and I still remember exactly where I was and what I was doing (hiking to Kilemche village in Kyrgyzstan). 

We need to inspire black kids to reach for the stars, teach them confidence, encourage all young adults to call out discrimination when they see it, prompt teachers to think harder about books and art works they choose for their pupils. 

I started following an amazing account on Instagram called @ablackhistoryofart. It’s run by a Cambridge student studying art who discovered there was no black art on the curriculum so she started posting works of black artists and putting interesting captions like what does a hoody symbolise or how does it make you feel. Next thing you know people will start buying paintings from black artists… or so I hope. 

Luckily, we now live in the world with an abundance of media platforms with films, TV series, podcasts, books, blogs, radio shows, plays, live events - all of these are capable to educate and inspire us to become better citizens. Why, even pub quizzes could include questions like “How many CEOs of Fortune 500 companies in the US are black?” or “What was the highest grossing movie made by a black director?”  or “Which sport is Simone Biles famous for?” or “Whose real name is Michael Omari or, if you like, Michael Ebenazer Kwadjo Omari Owuo Jr? (The answers are below.) 

I’m pretty confident that most people reading this are already doing something to educate themselves. Have you heard that Brit-ish, a book by Afua Hirsh has actually been sold out on Amazon? But let’s be honest, not everyone is like that so we need all types of content to reach every white policeman in Minnesota and every Wetherspoon’s patron here in the UK. We need broadcasters, publishers, movie studios to put some money behind content highlighting black lives, and we, as consumers, need to spend our money so that it becomes not just a nice thing to do but a profitable thing too. (Here is an independent publisher which creates shelf space for diverse writers.)

If this ended up being a long article, this is by no means all. I'm still thinking and processing it all and I hope I won’t ever stop. All thoughts and ideas welcome. 

Answers: 4; Black Panther; Gymnastics; Stormzy 

It's topic du jour and I too decided to try my luck as a clairvoyant.

1. Life will largely go back to normal
Every time I go travelling to some remote place where life is slower and everything is cheaper, I come back to London resolved to spend less money on such extravagant things as takeaway coffee and workout classes when I could easily go for a run or find something on YouTube. I vow not to buy clothes and cycle to work more often. I promise myself not to order overpriced wine at the theatre and just enjoy the art. These resolutions don't last a week.

Let's face it: once we are allowed to go out again and go back to some modified version of the previous routine, life will largely go back to normal. Sporty people will exercise more, couch potatoes will abandon their attempts at Zoom yoga as soon as the hype dies down. Health evangelists will buy organic, cook from scratch and monitor their quality of sleep, while the rest of the population will live off Deliveroo and easy meals. People who love being sociable will organise parties, BBQs and pub quizzes. Introverts will stay at home loving the fact that they choose, rather than are forced, to do so. 

Postmen, bus drivers, doctors and nurses, cash till operators and rubbish collectors will get their thank yous from people who always thank them. They will still be shouted at by some others. 

Someone I knew had bone marrow cancer. He was an investment banker - a stressful job with long hours, unhealthy lifestyle and superiors with pretty poor management skills. He recovered... and went back to banking. Plus ça change. 

2. Cash will be out
It's been a long time coming and finally cash economy received a fatal blow. I predict that in developed economies we'll go completely cashless just like they did it a decade ago in Iceland. Here in Britain some retailers were still insisting on minimum spend to accept cards, while some self-employed demanded cash for their undeclared services. The UK government offered a rescue package to self-employed promising to pay up to £2,500 a month or 80% of the average monthly profit for the last three years to anyone with trading profits of up to £50,000 a year. That is incredibly generous - if only every hairdresser, handyman and cleaner was honest with the taxman in the first place. 

I hate carrying cash and have been long applauding businesses which went "card only" before the lockdown. Portable card readers, card companies and mobile-only banks will benefit from going cashless as will we all from avoiding dirty banknotes.

3. Gloves will be in
When did we stop wearing gloves? In the last novels I read set in Russia in the XIX century and in the 1948 England upper and middle class women wore gloves. I predict that pretty summer gloves will soon pop up in your Instagram feed. 

4. Telemedicine will finally become widely adopted
Lockdown is a strange time. You get a cough or chest pain and yet because you aren't critically ill - gasping for breath or unable to bring down high fever - you can't see a doctor with a stethoscope. This is definitely not normal. However, when I wasn't well, I was able to call my GP surgery and a doctor called me back using WhatsApp's video function. I received medical advice just an hour after I called for help and I got it remotely. Normally, it takes 7-10 working days for me to get an appointment, and then a GP would refer me to a specialist. That is nonsense. Clearly, there are lots of conditions which need to be examined face-to-face and you can't get a jab remotely but telemedicine is extremely useful to deal with many maladies. 

What's interesting is that my GP used WhatsApp. Perhaps fancy telemedicine startups like Babylon Health have overcooked their solutions to the most acute problem - access to a doctor. 

5. What good leadership looks like will change
I don't read many Harvard Business Review articles on management and leadership, yet it's impossible not to pick up on an academic shift away from charismatic "save the day" superheroes towards practical, empathetic kind of leaders we really need.

Covid-19 set the world to rights.

In politics, caring, compassionate, decisive and prudent leadership of Angela Merkel and Jacinda  Ardern appear in stark contrast to high octane, shambolic, "essay crisis" style of Boris Johnson and Donald Trump. Vladimir Putin who has self-isolated in a cosy dacha with open fire and pretty Easter cakes will hold on to power but he will never recover his popularity. 

In business, it's managers who overcommunicated, showed empathy and acted early and decisively, will harvest staff loyalty, productivity and better performance from their teams. We will see a shift in values in all spheres of life which will hopefully trickle down to electoral booths.

6. Masks will become ubiquitous
Do you remember when we were first ordered to organise toiletries into 100ml bottles and take just a small bag of them on a plane as hand luggage? We aren't quite convinced it helps prevent terrorist attacks but we got used to travelling this way. We don't mind it much at all. 

Masks will probably be enforced on public transport, flights and, who knows, perhaps even in theatre. Entrepreneurial folks will be selling masks outside popular attractions like Sagrada Familia or Pyramids of Giza. Why, I can even see a basic face mask included in the entrance ticket to Westminster Abbey!

Masks are uncomfortable and I would much rather have a shift in public consciousness so that contagious ill people would stay at home than potentially infect us but unless companies make it a rule that you mustn't travel to then office if you are sick, unless yoga studios allow you to cancel a class for free last minute if you wake up feeling unwell, people will keep "soldiering on" and spreading the viruses in public places. 

I remember getting my nails done in December. The technician was ill with watering eyes and sneezing constantly. She wasn't wearing a mask. I could either lose money (because I had booked in advance) and risk ending up without a manicure in the busy pre-Christmas period or I could hope for the best. I stayed and luckily I didn't get infected, however, I will never behave so carelessly again. Nail art might be someone's livelihood but not at the expense of my health. 

7. Content will forever be king but it will change
You know when someone recommends you a novel or a TV series and says: "You've got to persevere a little bit, it gets better after the first 100 pages / couple of episodes." Such stories will not survive.

We are already spoilt for choice when it comes to books or filmed entertainment because it takes just a couple of clicks to order a new book on Kindle or check out a new show on Netflix. The lockdown caused by the pandemic has also had an effect on our tastes. When I pick up a book, I want it to grab me and not let go (until it's mealtime). When I watch TV, I don't have the patience to persevere either. I want to be entertained and enthralled; I want a proper switch from BBC News. A kid put in front of an iPad by exhausted parents will have to get hooked instantly, and the same applies to adults. Storylines will have to become more gripping.

In fiction, I recommend Zuleikha Opens Her Eyes by Guzel Yakhina, Small Island by Andrea Levy or The Book Of Dust series by Philip Pullman. Watch Quiz (on ITV Hub in the UK) for filmed entertainment. 

8. Travel will become more of a luxury.
Travel is where my crystal ball betrays me. I want everything to go back to just as it was: cheap flights and hostels, low insurance premiums, frequent and careless weekend aways and the world staying open without travel permits and other virtual borders. But that's very unlikely. My rational mind tells me that flights will become expensive, hostels will be banned, travel insurance policies will become mandatory and expensive. Most countries will require you to produce a health passport showing that you've been vaccinated against Covid-19 if that's possible. 

Travel will become much more of a luxury, like it used to be for the generations before us. City breaks will be less popular than quiet retreats in the middle of nowhere. This is because Paris, London, Rome and New York will be full of masks reminding us of Covid-19 and the unease of the lockdown. By contrast, in nature it would be possible to surround yourself with mountains, meadows and the sea and pretend that the pandemic of 2020 never happened. 

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Cataclysmic events tend to have not just profound effects on people's lives but they also inspire remarkable works of art often causing a shift in culture. World War II, for example, was followed by a new movement on stage, producing "Theatre of the Absurd", dramatic works by Samuel Beckett, Eugène Ionesco and Harold Pinter, to name a few. Theatre of the Absurd stemmed from the era of spiritual emptiness, when amidst precariousness of human existence all traditional values and meaning of life itself seemed to have become irrelevant. Theatre of the 1950s and 1960s produced narrative without plots, babbling monologues and incongruous settings. Yet the legacy of the bewildered, anxious, disoriented humankind we inherited through those "absurd" works is uncannily relevant to our own experience today.

If you are a little bored of Netflix, I encourage you to seek out a YouTube version of Beckett's play Happy Days, written and first staged in New York in 1961. (I watched the film version with Rosaleen Linehan as Winnie, directed by Patricia Rozema.)   

On the surface, the play is absurd. A middle-aged, well-preserved (Beckett's words, not mine!) woman wearing a low cut bodice and a pearl necklace is buried up to her waist in a mound amidst a desolate landscape. Beside her there is a large black bag which contains a bunch of items such as a toothbrush, a hairbrush, a mirror, a parasol and - I'll be candid with you - a revolver. There is a hole nearby, where her monosyllabic husband Willie dwells.

In Act I, Winnie wakes up and goes about her daily routine: brushing her teeth, making up her face, all the while chatting merrily, obviously putting an effort to stay cheerful and oblivious to her predicament. In Act II, we find Winnie buried up to her chin, a revolver still nearby but out of reach. Husband Willie is predictably useless, and the last scene ends with a song (the playwright is Irish, remember).

​I have no idea what Beckett was originally alluding to with his clever play but you won't be short of ideas of how to interpret his allegory. Winnie might be stuck in a hopeless marriage or she might have lived all her life in a small town, never daring to explore the world beyond her milieu. Winnie could have stayed in a  job she hated all her life, but she wasn't brave enough or believed she didn't have the means to move on. Winnie could be stuck at home self-isolating with her good-for-nothing husband, lonely and desperate for help and genuine human contact. She could even represent the entire humankind buried alive amidst the climate crisis, while her husband represents useless governments and policy-makers. 

My fascination with the play stems from its very vivid representation of the British "grin and bear" culture. The woman is unhappy, she is in some difficulty, yet she puts of a brave face day in, day out, talking to herself: "No, no... mustn't complain... so much to be thankful for..." Winnie keeps herself sane with her daily routine and her positive mental attitude: "What I find wonderful that not a day goes by without some blessing in disguise." Personally, I'm a big fan of practising gratitude, finding a silver lining in every cloud and keeping to a routine in uncertain times, but Winnie takes "glass half full" attitude to a whole new level. 

What's clearly helping Winnie is her bag. It's a sense of security, something solid to hold on to. It helps to understand why people are stockpiling non-perishable items during the Covid-19 outbreak: it's not about the fear of staying hungry - it's about doing something to restore one's peace of mind.

There is a scene where Winnie takes out a parasol from her bag and opens it up. Winnie is struggling to hold it up, she is very uncomfortable, and yet - she finds it impossible to put it down. That's another ingenious metaphor representing all sorts of burdens people are determined to keep carrying instead of resolutely dropping them and taking off both physical and mental loads. So often we feel "grinning and bearing" is the right approach, the righteous path even, but sometimes turning back down the mountain when struck with altitude sickness; closing down an underperforming business or walking away from an unhealthy relationship is the wiser thing to do. I found myself shouting at the screen: "Drop it down, you silly woman!" I can't say she heard me. 

What struck me about Happy Days is that it shows how reluctant we are to call for help. They say that the three most difficult things to say are "I'm sorry", "I love you" and "Help". I think "Help" is by far the hardest. Whether you are British and have been brought up with the "stiff upper lip" attitude or whether you are simply a modern independent human being used to relying on yourself, reaching out for help may seem like admitting a weakness or defeat. Now especially one is tempted to think that we are all in the same boat struggling to make sense with what's happening in the world. Asking for a favour may seem like an unreasonable indulgence.

It is not. Asking for help is not a weakness - it's a brave thing to do. You might get ignored, but you might get a lifeline. Most people - who are well, who are safe financially, who are simply fortunate to have their spirits up - are looking for ways to be useful. They want to help and it would make them feel good to do so. History and anthropology tell us that humans survive hardship through cooperation. We wouldn't be here today if our ancestors didn't get together to hunt, fight and look after the weak, i.e. the elderly, pregnant women and children. We wouldn't love our family and friends so fiercely had they not been kind to us when we needed their support.

In times like this, don't be a Winnie. Be brave and ask for help. 

About a week ago I was having a conversation with someone about a Russian friend of mine - a beautiful woman and a successful entrepreneur who had to kiss a few frogs before she had found her prince. It's not uncommon for intelligent, ambitious women to struggle to find a match: men are said to be intimidated by them. The man I was talking to suggested his own explanation which relates to Russian women in particular. "Russian women", he said, "are guilty of double standards. On the one hand, they want equal rights and opportunities but on the other hand, they expect men to do the DIY and buy them roses." Is that true? Are Russian women and women in general who want to get on in life but choose to look and behave in a traditionally feminine way guilty of having their cake and eating it?  And what should we do to avoid the unhappiness such alleged double standards cause us? 

Fortunately, the answer came to me just a couple of days later. I went to the Harold Pinter Theatre to see Conor McPherson’s new adaptation of Anton Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya. The play, written in 1898 and widely performed ever since, goes some way to explain the female psyche we desperately need to change. 

In the play Sonya and her uncle Vanya manage the country estate which supports the urban lifestyle of Sonya's father and his second wife, Yelena, a young and glamorous woman who dazzles everyone during their brief stay in the countryside.  Sonya is bright, hard-working and kind. She is hopelessly in love with the local doctor, Astrov, who is in turn obsessed with Yelena. Sonya is in despair. She thinks she is ugly, certainly in comparison to beautiful Yelena. She sees herself as a pathetic grey mouse doomed to spinsterhood. A modern Instagram influencer would have told Sonya to own her assets: her ability to run the estate and her generous heart. But back in the 19th century Sonya was up against the force no positive mental attitude could have beaten. I'm talking about the patriarchy. 

The patriarchy made sure that women were judged first and foremost by their looks. Astrov the doctor knew very well that Yelena was an idle, empty person. She did no work, she had no hobbies. She constantly complained of boredom yet she thought teaching peasants' children or volunteering at a local hospital would be pointless and beneath her. Her indolence disgusted the doctor but he was in love with her because of her looks. Sonya would feed him, cared for him and listen to his woes but he simply didn't see her as a woman. 

In a patriarchal society there is only one set of values - the one established by men. In Chekhov's play, Sonya had no chance. A woman's worth was set by her beauty and that paradigm has been internalised by Sonya and generations of women after her. A Russian woman does not need to go to the theatre to admire the timelessness of Uncle Vanya. By and large the society and its attitudes towards women haven't changed that much. 

A modern woman might not realise it, but she has been born with misogyny deep inside her DNA. How many times have you seen a woman wearing make-up at a 7am gym class? Last September when I told my father that Bianca Andreescu beat Serena Williams in the US Open Final, his response was: "The Canadian? Not a beauty, that one".  It is common knowledge that female politicians receive a disproportionate coverage of their outfits rather than deeds. The virtue of femininity is not just about the looks. Harvard researchers found in 2010 that voters in the US regarded “power-seeking” women with contempt and anger, but saw power-seeking men as stronger and more competent. No wonder female candidates in the current primaries are having a hard time to convince voters. 

The internalised misogyny is what's driving some women to play damsel in distress or appear less intelligent than they actually are because our society is still stuck in the so called traditional ways of valuing women for their femininity. A woman may well choose to play a role of a DIY ignoramus and to show particular appreciation for flowers just to fit the stereotype. In Britain, a third of women earn more than their male partners, and most of them lie about their salaries no doubt to preserve fragile male egos. 

Dear readers, it is our responsibility to change the norms we inherited from Chekhov's Doctor Astrov and his 19th century pals. When considering female politicians, let's assess their competence not their likability. When complimenting young girls, let's use "strong", "kind" and "smart" at least as often as "pretty".  Let's celebrate women's ability to choose whether to have children, whether to become a stay-at-home mum or return to work after maternity leave and whether to look feminine or androgynous.

​As a Russian, I admire the longevity of Chekhov's plays but as a woman I despair. I honestly wish that one day we'd watch Sonya's anguish and Doctor Astrov's blindness and think "I can't relate to that at all."

Have you ever felt that making a wish when blowing out your birthday candles is a bit pointless? I think I might have come up with a better idea… 

A couple of months ago I was travelling in Ethiopia, an incredibly diverse and interesting country with stunning mountains and ancient Christian churches. I loved it but at times I found the experience a little exasperating when kids in rural areas would run towards me chanting “Pen, pen!” or sometimes “Money!”. It’s been a while since I’ve travelled to a country where kids pester tourists quite so much. My guides tried to tell me that it was their way to practise English but if that were so, “Welcome to Ethiopia” would be a better way to start a conversation.

It might be that my experience of local people in the countryside of Ethiopia came in such a contrast with my recent travels in Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. In Kyrgyzstan, when I was hiking in the mountain pastures and was passing a shepherd’s yurt, I was often invited to come in for a cup of tea. The locals would offer me bread and freshly churned cream and would absolutely refuse any money I tried to offer them as a thank you. Hospitality is of course something Central Asia is renowned for which makes travelling there incredibly special. 

Thinking about my experience in Ethiopia made me wonder whether kids who grow up asking for gifts become adults who expect them. It might be a crude extrapolation, but we can all think of people expecting to win a lottery rather than investing in their health, education or personal development. Indeed, our culture makes a habit of wishful thinking and I for one don’t think it’s a helpful one. What good would it do to remind yourself that there is something you lack?

Ever since I remember, I was encouraged to make a wish when blowing out candles on my birthday cake. I don’t actually celebrate my birthday that often but opportunities to make a wish are plentiful: think New Year’s Eve, shooting stars, rainbows, four-leaf clovers, five-petal lilac blossom, three cherries joined together by a stem, finding a lucky Russian dumpling, breaking a wishbone, finding a coin head-side up, crossing bridges, etc.. I would always ask for something grand and abstract. In recent years I’ve only ever wished to get my health back. You may say that my wish has come true as I’m now feeling much better but I have another explanation.

What has really helped me to live better with a chronic condition (I have myalgic encephalomyelitis also known as Chromic Fatigue Syndrome) is to accept it and then learn to live with it. One practice that really made a difference to every aspect of my health was to notice little things which made me happy and to recognise small improvements with gratitude. When I stopped working due to ill health I noticed for the first time that there were birds, mostly blackbirds, which sang right outside my apartment block in the very metropolitan area of London. Even on dark February mornings they sang! Previously, I never had breakfast at home. I would rush to work and grab something to gobble up in front of my computer. After I left my job, I was still waking up early and I would cook porridge or make a smoothie and take my time to have a pot of coffee, taking in my immediate environment. I also wrote a gratitude diary which would list three things a day, nothing more profound than “I’m grateful I talked to my mum today” or “I’m grateful I found time to read today, not just watch TV.”

A few years later on a holiday in South Africa I got up early one morning and climbed to the top of Lion's Head in Cape Town. I remember the profound sense of joy and gratitude I felt. It did not bother me in the slightest that some people ran up that hill and that they probably did that every day as their exercise routine. I remember feeling so happy – it was actually my birthday and there was no cake, no candles and no expectations to wish for anything more. 

So here is a thought: what if each time you blow out your birthday candles or spot a shooting star, you remember to swap a wish for a gratitude? Rather than wishing “to get my health back”, I would think “I’m so grateful that I have plenty of energy for a party with friends”. Happy thoughts not wishful thinking make us content.

Social scientists such as Tal Ben Shahar and Yuval Noah Harari have been writing on the latest scientific thinking on happiness. What I took away from their books personally is that we feel unhappy when we want something and we can’t have it (e.g trying for a baby unsuccessfully or missing out on a promotion). Conversely, when we don’t build up any expectations and live like nothing is amiss, we feel much happier. Learning to live in the present and appreciating what we have is key to a happy life. Fortunately, there are simple techniques to train your mind to get there.

Back in 2015 I wrote about gratitude being scientifically proven to enhance wellbeing. In his book 59 Seconds Richard Wiseman quotes psychologists Robert Emmons and Michael McCollough who conducted an experiment, investigating gratitude and subjective well-being (2003). Three groups of people were asked to spend a few moments each week writing. The first group listed five things for which they were grateful, the second noted down five things that annoyed them and the final group jotted down five events that had taken place during the previous week. The 'gratitude' group remarked on seeing the sunset or on the generosity of their friends. The 'annoyed' group wrote about bills and arguments. The 'events' group detailed making breakfast and driving to work. The results were startling. Compared to those in either the 'annoyed' or 'events' groups, those expressing gratitude ended up happier, much more optimistic about the future, physically healthier and even exercised significantly more. Similarly, research by Seligman, Steen, Park and Peterson (2005) suggests that writing a gratitude diary every day for a week makes one happier and more resilient with the effects which may persist for months.

I have recently spent some time with two ten-year-olds I have known all their lives. I am fascinated to watch them grow but I'm also wary about their personal development being shaped by the modern culture.  For example, both of them are already aware of different iphone models and the perceived status of owning the latest one. I'm not their parent but even I want to exclaim: “Don’t grow up too soon!”. I want them to learn to appreciate little things like going out for a proper Italian pizza or being engrossed in a book. I want them to learn to recognise what they already have and understand that much is possible if they put their mind to it. I rather they try and fail than simply day dream. But I know that the only person I can influence with some success is myself. From now on I’ll start counting rainbows as blessings and see whether that takes me to the proverbial pot of gold. 

How to read in 2020?

The answer is widely. 

Think diversity - not in the overused corporate virtue-signalling context - but rather in a sense of striving to consume many different opinions, expressed by people who live in a different land, age and circumstances. Travel the world through works of fiction and sprinkle a little foreignness onto your customary Anglo-Saxon fare. Take up new genres: a sci-fi adventure or a fantasy tale may well surprise you. Not convinced? Putin's latest move to give more power to State Council, a previously advisory parliamentary committee in Russia, surprised many. Interestingly, in his latest book The Secret Commonwealth: a Book of Dust Volume II, Philip Pullman described just such a move (and its consequences) by a scheming central character, Marcel Delamare. Still think children's fantasy books are not your thing?

Last year I was inspired to diversify my reading list as much as possible. Rather than choosing to read  more female authors (something male readers are statistically proven guilty of ignoring - a little hint right there!) or to vary genres, I decided to focus on international fiction.  I made it deliberately a little difficult: once I read an English writer, all English fiction was off the list until the next year. As a result, I simply had to seek out writers from different corners of the world. I did well. Here is a full list of countries I have "travelled" to last year:

Afghanistan (Kite Runner), Belarus (Chernobyl Prayer), Canada (Station Eleven), England (Lady Chatterley's Lover), France (Adele), Germany (Alone in Berlin), Iran (Persepolis), Ireland (The House of Names), Israel (Liar), Italy (I'm Not Scared), Japan (The Last Children of Tokyo), Kyrgyzstan (Jamilia), Latvia (Soviet Milk), Nigeria (My Sister the Serial Killer), Pakistan (Unmarriageable), Russia (Rock, Paper Scissors), Romania (The Land of Green Plums), South Korea (The Vegetarian), Sweden (Let the Right One In), Switzerland (Agnes), Syria (Death at Intervals), Turkey (Red Haired Woman) and the USA (White Houses).

That's nice stats. So what has made my reading journey so spectacular? Here are my thoughts.

I contemplated things from a different perspective. 
Russians and Brits alike love reading books about the Second World War. There is, if we are ready to admit this to ourselves, a certain comfort in a familiar angle. The Nazis are sometimes referred to as simply the Germans. The baddies are based in Berlin. You get the gist. A friend of a friend recommended I read Alone in Berlin by Hans Fallada, a classic novel about the grassroots resistance in 1940s Berlin. The original German title of the book is even more poignant: "Every Many Dies Alone". It is a devastating but also a humorous and a life-affirming novel which placed me in a seemingly unfamiliar setting. Yet some pages in I was nodding as I was reading about repressions, fear, neighbours who reported each other to the authorities and ordinary people being extraordinary brave. 

I felt humbled by my own ignorance. 
I was six years old when a nuclear reactor exploded in Chernobyl on 26 April 1986. It is now common knowledge that the Soviet authorities did everything to suppress the news and the extent of the catastrophe. Indeed, Mikhail Gorbachev, who was in power at the time, didn't make a public announcement about Chernobyl until after the 9 May, the Victory Day public holiday in the Soviet Union. Chernobyl disaster eventually made it front-page news but up until recently my understanding of it was limited. It was a tragedy for the Ukraine, which still bears scars. I had no idea though about the catastrophic effect Chernobyl had on Belarus until I read Svetlana Alexievich's brilliant oral history book Chernobyl Prayer: Voices from Chernobyl. 

I have read nearly all the books by the Nobel-prize winning Belorussian author so I should have known what I was getting myself into. Her books are without exception - painful, raw, brutal and shocking. Yet nothing prepared me for Chernobyl: I was in tears first few pages in. Perhaps, I am not selling this book well. It certainly isn't a dreamy romantic novel. Just trust me when I say this: read this book. It is the oral history of humanity set in a place few of us have been to or will ever visit. Travel there with Alexievich and let her be your guide. 

I felt inspired to travel to new places. 
Anyone been to Pakistan? Keen to explore Lahore? I am. Unlike my previous recommendation, Unmarriageable, a retelling of Pride and Prejudice based in modern day Pakistan, is a joyous and light read. The author, Sonia Kamal, has been obsessed with Jane Austin all her life. This is her tribute to the master storyteller. Kamal stayed true to the classic plot, but she also managed to fill her work with delicious Pakistani cuisine, local customs and wonderful philological tidbits. A middle-class Pakistani who speaks better English than Urdu is apparently colloquially called a "burger", while if your English isn't up to scratch, you'd be referred to as "paratha". Wonderful, isn't it?

I discovered brilliant books I should have read a long time ago. 
Ever heard raving reviews of a recently published book from several different sources and thought "I'm too cool to jump on this bandwagon, I'll let the dust settle first."? Me too. The more accolades something receives the greater my resistance. The thing is - books won't go anywhere. The good ones will stay and bring joy years later. Up until last year I have not read the Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Thankfully, as I was browsing articles with recommendations on international fiction, I came across this bestseller and immediately ordered a copy. It deserves every praise it gets. 

I read my first ever graphic novel.
I ran out of books during a weekend trip to Slovakia. Fortuitously, I stumbled upon a bookshop with an English section. It's always interesting to see what gets stocked in a fairly random place like Bratislava. Marjani Satrapi's bestselling graphic memoir, Persepolis was on the shelf.  It's the most delightful read and a great way to try to understand modern Iran. 

I stumbled upon a real gem. 
I was opportunistically looking through a book selection in a charity shop in Chiswick when I saw a slim volume with a familiar name: Chingiz Aitmatov. Aitmatov was a Kyrgyz-born Soviet writer, who wrote both in Russian and Kyrgyz, famous for his novels, such as "A Day Lasts Longer than a Century", but I haven't read anything by him myself. I bought his novella Jamilia and was deeply touched by a beautifully told love story. Russian prose like Russian classical music has an unmistaken cadence to it. Enthralling. 

I discovered people who share my passion for international fiction. 
I picked up a copy of Soviet Milk by a Latvian writer Nora Ikstena at Waterstones on Piccadilly. It was beautifully bound and published by Pereine, a publishing house specialising in contemporary European fiction. I enjoyed Ikstena's story about three generations of women in Soviet Latvia, which, by the way, made my weekend trip to Riga especially enjoyable. I also learned that Pereine Press runs a subscription service where you can sign up to receive their well-curated new books. Indeed, this model allows them to make bold choices, commission new translations regularly and let readers discover books outside the mainstream market. It makes a wonderful present too!

I hope I made a convincing argument to read more widely. 
​
"We need sometimes to escape into open solitudes, into aimlessness, into the moral holiday of running some pure hazard, in order to sharpen the edge of life, to taste hardship, and to be compelled to work desperately for a moment no matter what."

George Santayana said this about travel, but I think it relates to books too. 

This article was originally published on 15 October 2019 by Sifted.eu, the FT-backed media site for European start-up and VC news.

I spent the last weeks of the summer in the mountains of Central Asia. Hiking through high altitude pastures in Kyrgyzstan, I met shepherd families who welcomed me with tea or kumys (fermented mare’s milk) in their simple yurts and showed me how it’s possible to live simply yet generously. A 15-year-old schoolgirl (who spoke four languages), who was helping her mother look after Western tourists at a homestay, told me she wanted to become a paediatrician and help families who don’t have access to medicine in remote Kyrgyz villages.After a fortnight of travelling through breathtaking landscapes and enjoying genuine hospitality I came back to London transformed.

Going through funding applications in my inbox, I simply couldn’t get excited by a new app promising to find the coolest new London eateries, and yet already it has raised pre-seed capital. An entire generation of startups seem to target young shopaholics; from apps that offer kickbacks on peer-to-peer brand recommendations to fintech apps that help millennials save money for “guilt-free luxury shopping”.  Investors appear to be obsessed with memory foam mattresses, taxi-hailing apps, electric scooters and ready meals like these are the most important problems on the planet.

On returning from holiday, I set up meetings with healthtech companies, which are already making a real difference despite their early stage. One such business, Span, cofounded by software engineer Patrick Samy, helps type 2 diabetes patients reverse their condition through personalised advice on dieting and fasting. Another startup, Spill, cofounded by Gavin Dhesi, offers message-based therapy as a business to business (B2B) service, enabling companies to offer accessible professional counselling to their employees. Investing in such businesses comes with a number of risks, an integral part of venture capital, but the rewards of helping them succeed go beyond financial returns.

The holiday did not make me completely take leave of my senses. All our companies have to make money. But it gave me a renewed appreciation of what really matters to the world. I think that all venture capital companies should be challenging themselves when making investment decisions. Just as consumers are beginning to ask: “Do I need this plastic straw in my drink?”, venture capital companies should be asking: “Do people need another Instagram-like app on their phone?”

There is a misconception that impact businesses grow at a slower pace than purely commercial enterprises. At a recent event, Building Global Impact Ventures by Female Founders, organised by Cazenove Capital and Mustard Seed VC, Saasha Celestial-One, the cofounder of OLIO, explained that, thanks to its mission to reduce food waste, OLIO receives wide press coverage for free because journalists love writing about it. The founders were able to hire the best talent because experienced professionals often look for meaningful work while legal, consulting and PR firms compete to represent them.

​Stellar teams and impressive traction attract capital. It is not a coincidence that sustainable condiment brand Rubies in the Rubble raised £2.1m earlier this year. Once you realise that consumers today seek out sustainable brands and that corporations put social responsibility at the top of their agenda, investing in impact businesses is not just the right thing to do – it’s smart too.